


Four Times

by halfhardtorock



Category: Nicholas Nickleby - Charles Dickens
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You could not," Smike whispers back, curling an arm around Nicholas's neck. "There could be nothing hurtful about having Nicholas inside me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times

**Author's Note:**

> Mildly dubcon for the way Smike's body almost refuses to process pleasure.

 

1.)

He spies Smike from the window, coming back from town. It is just the second time his friend has made the trip alone, and it makes his heart full to see him, a lean figure on the lane. By _God_ , but he's _beautiful_. His hat is off in his hand and his hair is caught up in the wind, overgrown now for a proper gentleman, but so _soft_ on Smike. So lively.

Nicholas watches him come all the way up the walk and then he shoves his quill away, strips off his coat and throws it onto his chair back.

They meet on the landing of the stairs, and Smike's expression is all surprise when Nicholas takes him in his arms.

They knock against the wall, Nicholas's fingers busily tugging away Smike's cravat for the free indulgence of his mouth and tongue. Smike's throat beneath his lips makes weak, distressed sounds. Nicholas slides a hand down the young man's back, begins drawing him upstairs.

"--Wait," Smike blusters.

"Come to bed," Nicholas beckons softly, walking them up, "Oh please, come to bed."

"B-but," Smike is blushing. Oh, it feels warm against Nicholas's cheek. "--it is midday!"

"I don't care," Nicholas smiles at Smike's mouth, then takes his plump bottom lip into a gentle suck. 

Smike's fingers are _sharp_ at his waist as Nicholas bears him onward. 

 

 

He goes into a frenzy when he beds Smike. It is because he loves him so, and being allowed this makes him quicken with such impatience and need, he cannot think of their lovemaking later without feeling dizzy with what he has done to his friend.

He strips them both, running fingertips over each naked reveal of skin. His mouth quickly follows his fingers. He has tasted Smike's body in all its quiet, pale places. Places that have made Smike sob for him to slow, places that have made Smike tremble and loose seed in a spray on their bed. Mmmm. Places that have tasted wonderfully private, like Smike but better, only for Nicholas to know of and bedevil with his soft tongue.

It is day, so he can see every crumpled look of anguished pleasure on his friend's face. It only makes his heart fill to bursting, his body run hot and cold. He gets lost in the feeling of Smike's heart drumming underhand, the softness of his earlobe in his mouth. When he comes to, Smike is whimpering endlessly, head thrown back, brow all rumpled. 

Nicholas is panting as he reaches for the oil. 

He gets up on his knees, his sex jutting between his legs. Smike's throat ripples with a swallow, and then he risks a look up.

Nicholas grins.

Smike's face screws and he turns away again, gasping.

"It's fine, Smike. You have nothing to fear," Nicholas tells him lovingly. He leans on a palm over the young man while he prepares and softens his own tight entrance with the oil. 

"Nicholas," Smike says with a broken, troubled voice. "You should not."

Nicholas laughs, but the deep press of his own fingers strains the sound, makes sweat drip from his hair onto Smike's lean chest. 

He has to close his eyes, concentrate, lip caught in his teeth. He feels Smike's fingertips at his eyelids. 

"Does it hurt?" Smike asks, voice very small.

"Oh no," Nicholas says, smiling a secret smile. "It is not _hurt_ I feel."

And then he is ready, so he opens his eyes, lifts up.

"Oh," Smike breathes out sharply. "Oh Nicholas, you shouldn't--"

"Shhhh," Nicholas hushes, leaning over him, bringing their mouths close. "You mustn't fret so," and then he's holding Smike's small, fat cock in his hand.

"Please, Nicholas--" he begs one last time but Nicholas is determined. He sighs out a long _shhhhh_ and sits on that stiff length.

His body arches as it centers through him, wide, shocking stretch that always sets his face on fire. 

The deep intimacy of it is greeted by a strangled cry as Smike loses all composure. His face goes white with shock but his throat and chest just _streak_ with the spread of his flush. His mouth curls almost _ugly_ , his nose pinches tight. He looks like he's being _hurt_ , pleasure still such a stranger to his body. Nicholas's breath sobs out as he watches.

"Oh my dear one," Nicholas breathes. "My dearest, dearest one."

It is Smike that begins. Who takes Nicholas by the hip with a firm hand and _arches_. Thrusting up.

When they make love, there is not thought. There is only this strenuous labor of their bodies and a final, unbearable, _startling_ gratification.

 

Nicholas wilts over him, panting at Smike's jaw.

Smike's hands clutch at his back, bring him into a hug. 

They lie together, bodies cooling.

When he sighs and turns to his friend, Smike's face is something profound, full of love and gentleness and exhaustion. Nicholas smiles back.

"I never knew that love would be so...so..." Smike tries to speak, eyebrows coming together in thought. He touches Nicholas's mouth, stroking it.

Nicholas waits. 

"...so wicked," he finishes finally, confusing himself.

Nicholas laughs, moves up to lay his head on Smike's pillow. 

"I didn't know either," Nicholas admits, nuzzling in sleepily. "It has been a grand surprise."

Smike strokes his long, naked back while Nicholas dozes.

 

2.)

It's been _three days_. Three days of this ruse, and Nicholas is sick with longing. He finds himself dismal with waiting for them to be alone again. Kate notices, sits beside him after lunch where he's moodily watching Frank and Smike in the orchard together, inspecting the new apple trees. "Are you well, Nicholas? You...you seem so heartsick."

He can't help but smile, ashamed of himself for worrying her. "I am fine, dear Kate. Perhaps...a bit under the weather."

She smiles warmly, touches his hand. "Are you lonely here?"

"Lonely?" he asks, surprised. 

"Are there...young ladies in the parish? Do you attend the balls or--?" she asks awkwardly.

He laughs then, puts his hand over her's reassuringly. "I am not lonely. We do very well here, Smike and I."

And then he squints at his friend and Frank in the orchard, finds them laughing together at something. It makes him sigh, fall back in his lounge chair.

He watches them, pained.

 

When they depart that evening, he is almost dazed. He takes the stairs two at a time, goes to Smike's room. 

He can hear his friend within. 

He tries to knock politely, wait to be invited, but he's begun to shake. " _Smike_. I..."

They have never been apart for three days, for more than a handful of hours, and there has grown some kind of awkwardness between them. It leaves Nicholas's throat thick, makes him unsure of himself.

The room is quiet, like Smike is considering.

After too long a wait, Nicholas drops his forehead to the cool wood and says "Please, Smike. I cannot bear it."

"C-come in?" Smike's soft voice allows and Nicholas opens the door quickly.

His friend is in his small bed, lying on his back with the sheet pulled up to his stomach. He's shirtless and...and...

Smike winces, says "I wanted to ready myself...oh."

He's arched in such a way. Nicholas closes the door, staring at the movement and flex of his body. When he realizes what is happening, he cannot stay on his feet, body weakened. He sinks down on his knees beside the bed.

Smike watches him, looking skittish, eyes emotional.

"Oh my love," Nicholas gusts out, rests against the bedside, lightheaded. He touches at Smike's working shoulder, feeling the work it takes to open his body up on his fingers.

"It...it is _strange_ ," Smike whispers.

"Is it hot inside you?" Nicholas asks.

"Yes," Smike gasps. "It is like a fever."

Nicholas bites his lip sharply, _clutching_ Smike's arm.

He feels a trembly hand sweeping his hair back into place. And then Smike says "Will you undress?"

Nicholas shoves himself up, shaking. His body is clammy underneath his clothes. He strips them off, drops them on the floor, staring at Smike.

Smike's watches, mouth parted. His arm seems to quicken as Nicholas's shirt comes off.

Nicholas grimaces then, aroused to the point of pain. "Please, I cannot stand it," he gasps out, scrambling to undo his breeches, shove them off. His cock no longer feels like flesh and blood, it is as hard as an iron bar, so hot he thinks it will be steaming when he frees it. But it's just blood red, jerking and spiking with wet at the tip.

Smike's head falls back at the sight, and he gives a choked sound.

Nicholas climbs over his friend slowly. The bed squeaks at his extra weight. "I will not hurt you," he says adamantly. 

"You could not," Smike whispers back, curling an arm around Nicholas's neck. "There could be nothing hurtful about having Nicholas inside me."

Nicholas feels his body break into a sweat. He has never felt so much want. He is impatient, gets Smike's healthy leg curled around his hip. He reaches down to squeeze the other leg with affection.

"Oh God, I do not think I can bear such pleasure," he moans on a breath, finding the tender-hot, oiled place between Smike's legs with his searching fingers.

Smike takes him in his arms. "We will bear it together," he whispers, and then gasps when Nicholas presses his finger into that good tightness.

 

It is then that he learns that sometimes lovemaking is so all-consuming, so ravenous, it becomes _fucking_ again. 

And fucking can bring such _exquisite_ agony to their bed.

When he comes, Nicholas feels as though someone has reached low into his abdomen and _jerked_ at his organs. It is a pleasure so crudely made, he grunts with it like a beast.

He has nothing to say after, can only gasp at Smike's shoulder.

Between them, Smike's pleasure is just a splatter of heat on their stomachs.

Smike sobs for a while after, clinging to him like he will fall apart if he doesn't.

Nicholas has no love words left. No kisses. Only the heavy warmth of his body to keep Smike close.

 

3.) 

They are alone today at lunch. He smiles as a bit of blackberry jam rides the corner of Smike's mouth. Smike is looking at the paper, frowning, reading it slowly.

He has become so proficient, he no longer needs Nicholas to read to him at night. He will miss that time of having his friend tucked under his arm while he reads novels by firelight.

He feels playful. He could tussle Smike in the grass, feed on his mouth, suck his fingers until the heat overcomes them and they make love in the sun until their backs burn. 

He smiles to himself and enjoys his scone and tea.

When they are done, they leave the dishes on the breakfast table and walk out to the brook. He loves this place, where they first made love. 

The rock walls are swollen with water from the late rains. Smike pauses to look, licking his lips in nervousness.

Nicholas wishes the water were calmer. He would beckon his friend in. And they would swim until their limbs ached, and then they would come together. They would build such a rubbing, thrusting heat and then they would find their pleasure copiously. After, he would smooth that seed into Smike's soft stomach, kissing and lapping at his flat breast.

They wander onward, to the dark edge of the woods. There is wall that Smike leans on, sighing. Resting there while he looks into the trees.

Nicholas eyes helplessly drift to his friend's arse, which is jutted up by the way he bends over the wall. Nicholas wants to run his palm over it, reach around and tug Smike's breeches low. That arse would be pale and muscular in the dappled light. He wants to spread it, feel Smike's small entrance, the way it tenses up and softens at his touch.

He snorts and settles on the wall beside Smike. "All I think about is _lovemaking_ with you! My head was once filled with knowledge and words and lessons and maths and philosophy. And now it is like it has been emptied and filled with every _wanton_ thing I want to impose upon you."

Smike's mouth opens, but only a small, worried sound comes out.

Nicholas palms his face, laughing at himself. "Dear Smike, I have become a rake, a _lech_. I am worse than a lusty satyr."

Smike stares at him for a long moment, and then a shaky smile appears.

Nicholas is surprised at this grin. "Do you _laugh_ at my degeneracy?"

"No," says Smike, eyes fond. "It is just that...it is my affliction too."

Nicholas smiles then, slyly. "With this, I agree whole-heartedly."

He shows Smike the very baseness of his love, on his knees out in the wide open by the wood. Near the end of his pleasure, Smike shows him his own baseness by beginning a steady _jerking fuck_ of his hips, using Nicholas's mouth like it is a channel to rut in. Nicholas holds the stone wall in a clawed hand, giving Smike his throat to abuse with his ardor. And then he chokes Nicholas with his spend, hand clutching at Nicholas's golden hair.

 

4.) 

Nicholas knows he is not as good-natured as Kate, but that they share this warmth of character, this charitable belief in the virtuousness of most people. Therefore, he should not _hate_ the lass who stops them on the avenue with a breathlessly happy "Mr. Smike!"

She is pretty, with reddish hair in soft curls, with bright eyes and pleasant, though rustic manners. She is everything a match for Smike should be, delightful and simple. She would make him happy.

"Miss Anne, hello," Smike says, smiling a little. 

But then his eyes dart to Nicholas, take in his unconcealed disgust, and he says "Oh. W-we must go. It was...nice to see you."

"Oh," she says back, surprised by the suddenness of their meeting and parting. "Of course. Good afternoon Mr. Smike, Mr. Nickleby."

Smike walks away rather quickly, so Nicholas has to trot to keep up. 

He immediately feels a dark anger with himself. He frowns, says stormily "I am sorry. That was _appallingly_ inconsiderate of me."

Smike doesn't speak, but his own expression is all unhappiness.

Nicholas follows, carrying his self-disappointment like a rock on his back.

 

"I am sorry," he tries to say again, but Smike smiles weakly, says "It is fine," and leaves him in the entryway.

He feels at a loss. He has made an ass of himself. And worse, he has not dissuaded the match at al. Perhaps he has just pushed it further by making Smike unhappy with him.

He goes out for a long walk, trying to get his head together.

By the time he has returned, he has swallowed his hurt and his selfishness and prepared himself to be happy for his friend. He finds Smike at the window in the darkening sitting room. Like he was waiting, watching for Nicholas's return.

"It is cold! Shall I start a fire?" Nicholas asks, wondering. He begins to go to the wood box but Smike stops him. Hand hard.

He catches his breath, looks down at his friend.

Smike looks as if it pains him to speak, his mouth in a line of frustration. Nicholas feels a heaviness in his heart, that he has done this. Sweet, beautiful Smike. He has made this man _unhappy_.

"I will not have you like this," Smike says, voice urgent. 

Nicholas droops, eyes downcast. "Oh."

"It pains me, when you...when you..." Smike tries to say, stammering.

"Yes, of course. I..." Nicholas tries to be proper, but his heart is breaking.

"--when you think I would. I would...I would be so _cruel_."

Nicholas looks up, uncertain. Smike's lower lip tremors. 

"That I would look to love elsewhere. When I...you..." 

But the man is suddenly speechless, just shivering like he once did often, when he was fearful.

"Oh Smike," Nicholas exhales. "It is only because I thought you may...want something else in this life. Children. Your own household. A _wife_ \--"

" _You_ are my wife," Smike argues suddenly. 

They look at each other, surprised. Then Nicholas slowly smiles. Smike looks away, embarrassed.

"I am. Your wife?" Nicholas asks.

Smike blushes beautifully. He is still shaking. "I...I didn't mean."

"No," Nicholas whispers, blushing too now. Or at least he feels his face heat. "I will be your wife." He slowly takes Smike into his arms. Smike bites his lip at the words, expression tight.

"Oh yes," Nicholas says, and takes one of his friend's hand in his own, draws it up to his head so it can comb into his longer hair, fist. "If you will be my good husband, I will be your _loving_ wife."

"Do not say such things," Smike sighs, eyes slipping closed.

"Let me show you, my dear Mr. Smike--" he beckons him to the floor.

 

In the dark, he lets Smike climb over him, thrust between his thighs, where he's slicked with spit.

"There, that's it, that's it," he says wantonly, mouth open to Smike's soft throat, wetting it with his panting breath. "My good love. My _husband_."

"Nicholas," Smike whimpers as he spurts. He collapses after, taking hard breaths.

"I love you," Nicholas says with quiet tenderness.

 

 


End file.
